Sunday 21st and Monday 22nd June - The end in sight!

Well, Gary has updated my route again so here's his latest contribution - up to Jonkoping at the weekend..

Now, Angelika.

Well I admit I've done Angelika a disservice. After telling me about deposits for cleaning, bills for electricity used, this that and the other – she never charged anything extra. Also, when she looked for my paper work she didn’t look for a name but her sketch – so perhaps there is a difficulty with figures or reading there. Whatever, her system works -this was my bill

 – I think that’s my crash helmet not my hair!!!

You can easily see I was in Cabin 3, the Duck House,, the electric meter was 3339, she advanced me DK 12 in coins for the shower meter etc. Says it all really, so whilst she still appears as mad as the proverbial the stay was pleasant.

And this must be the most honest bit of self regulation I've ever seen...

(Yes, I know it was for German visitors but give me a break)




This was her shop....

Froggy liked it......

As I said, I slept in “The Duck House

 which was a change for me as there is often a more canine theme to the house I’m in – and woke up to a wonderful view.

I was riding overland from Denmark into Germany rather than using the ferry as I had done on the way up. It was obviously a bit further but meant I wasn’t tied to ferry times. And I wanted to see more of Denmark. And I am so glad I did.

 Look at a map of the north of Denmark and you’ll see it is a series of Island, big islands yes, but islands all the same.They are linked by the now expected incredible roads and beautiful bridges and riding along on a cool but sunny morning from Odense was wonderful. 

I switched regularly between taking the main, direct road – to make up time - to a more country routes – to get a feel for the country. 

That worked well at the start and I think the south of Denmark and the north of Germany around Flensburg was some of the prettiest scenery I’d experienced. Lovely fishing villages and old market town.

The countryside was vast rolling areas of cereals and grass and then smaller hedged fields of dairy cattle. It was in fact very much like the best of England except that – and I say it again – everywhere was so pristine, tidy, well cared for and no litter or fly tipping. A lot of the older houses were thatched which for some reason I hadn’t expected. Others were of a style all of there own but all very classy.

 

One little village just into Germany was having some kind of fete 

– probably still mid-summer – but the local I asked wasn’t very communicative. 



In that same village I saw a memorial to the local men that had been killed in the two world wars - thought provoking.

It was good to see all the cyclist out too. They looked like real people – well, real healthy people – enjoying themselves. You could wave and they responded. Up to that point most of the cyclists I had seen had been hunched over their handlebars, wrapped up in ponchos and heavy gear against the rain or wind – usually rain AND wind – and with their pointy little cycle helmets and more often than not bug-eyed goggles they looked like some surreal insects beetling along on some important errand – and far too occupied to acknowledge a lazy bloke - probably wearing tights - on a motorbike.

I tried to get a taste of the hedgerows but it didn't come out too well.

I stopped at a small town, Christiansfeld to look for something to eat and eventually came across a small non-descript café run by a guy a bit like René  from Allo Allo. It was a bit early for lunch but he assured me all his menu was available. The speciality of the house? – Meatballs. That sounded great, what did they come with? Potatoes – in sauce. Even better. They would take a bit of time René told me but brought me a big jug of coffee and plenty of milk as I sat outside in the sun so I didn’t mind. Now, I don’t usually take photos of meals – why would you – but just to show you René was a man of his word ....







– Meatballs and potatoes – in sauce

It was really quiet, both on the roads and in the towns and I spent far too much time stopping to look at things – hence nipping back onto the motorways every now and then.

It was lovely and I felt very lucky.

I found an amazing windmill but it was now a private home so could't get in to have a look.
















The day went a bit pair shaped towards late afternoon though. I pulled on to a motorway and,glancing down at the satnav, I saw I had exactly 600 miles to go to Calais so felt good.  Glancing up from the satnav however I noticed the traffic beginning to queue. Not usually a problem on a bike because you can easily filter between lanes on roads that wide but eventually the traffic swung into road works were it narrowed down too much for me to make any progress and then stopped altogether. And there I remained for the near enough 3 hours it took for me to stop and start 8 km to the next turn-off at Hamburg.

The upside was it made me drive through the City centre and that again was a thrill. It is hard to explain but on a bike – on a warm, dry evening – visor up – you feel very involved with all around whether that is in the country side or a city. And the traffic was actually light enough to enjoy the sites.

The delay though had put paid to the plans for the day and slight panic set in as I struggled to find a decent place to stay. But I did near Osnabruck so all was well.

This morning found me with about 400 miles to go to The Shuttle – too much to do in a day and then drive back home in the UK.

So am ensconced in a village near Dunkerque and if everything goes to plan and the bike keeps running as smoothly as it has I should be home tea time tomorrow.

5593 miles down, 300 odd to go!

Just a little aside – sitting next to me in a café was an English family with a well-spoken matriarch of the ilk that thinks if you shout in English at these foreign wallahs they’ll understand. They were ordering a main meal and when they shouting tactic failed they resorted to communicating with the waiter through sounds.  She wanted the lamb – baaah!  He wanted the steak –mooo! They struggled with the fish pie – I think the waiter thought the son was epileptic. I wasn’t around to see it but I have a lovely image of the meal arriving and the waiter singing to Old MacDonald “There’s a baah baah her and a moo moo there …..” 

We English don’t travel well do we?